


Friends in Unexpected Places

by dangerousjade



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Ableism, Backstory, Brewster is Bad, Bullying, Female Friendship, Gen, Prequel, Unhappy marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousjade/pseuds/dangerousjade
Summary: A series of vignettes about Elisa and Zelda's friendship, starting from the first day they met at Occam.





	Friends in Unexpected Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/gifts).



> Zelda and Elisa are one of my favorite girl power duos, and I am so happy for the chance to write a fic about them!

 

The day Zelda Fuller met Elisa Esposito, Baltimore was well on its way to being underwater.  It had rained for a full week, the radio saying something about a tropical storm or a hurricane rampaging up the east coast.  Zelda had to put down buckets in the living room to catch the drips from her leaky roof.  Brewster told her he would fix it last week, before the rains came.  The week came and went and not a peep from him.  It was as though he didn’t hear the constant, staccato drips that kept Zelda staring up at the ceiling as she was trying to sleep.  She would have to ask around at church next Sunday and see if anyone could do the job for cheap.  She hated doing it, asking for handouts, but ever since she married Brewster she was having to do it more and more often. 

Zelda felt the storm clouds gather in her mind, mirroring the view from her kitchen window.  She pushed those dark thoughts aside and flung her coat around her shoulders.  Hurricane or no, Zelda still had to get to work.  She boarded the bus carefully, the seats slippery and damp.  Dark water sloshed over the banks of Inner Harbor as they drove past.  The rain poured down in sheets, pelting her as she ran from the bus to take shelter under the imposing entryway of Occam Aerospace Research Center.  She could even hear it pounding on the roof, echoing through layers of concrete as she took a crowded elevator down to the lowest floor. 

“Noah’s flood,” Zelda muttered to herself.  “Going to wash us all away and start over again.”  

Zelda wished she could be swept away with the water, end up on some tropical island far from the rowhouses and rubble of Baltimore.  Brewster had promised they would take a vacation next year. “Going to take you on a honeymoon: Jamaica, Havana, Paris, hell, I’ll even fly you to the moon if you want to,” he crooned into her ear and Zelda giggled like a schoolgirl.   “You can hitch us a ride on one of those fancy rockets they been building at your work.”

“Ain’t nobody going to make it to the moon with these scientists,” Zelda snorted.  “Lord, I’ve never seen grown men make such a mess just to invent a new tin can.  Sometimes I don’t know how they can tell the difference between their inventions and the trash they leave on the floor.  You could probably go and steal one of their rockets and they wouldn’t even know it.”    

“If it was for you, I’d do it.”  Brewster’s voice was steady and sincere, and Zelda’s heart melted.   

The elevator opened and Zelda let herself be carried along with the stream of workers pouring into the facility.  She had hardly punched her time card before Fleming’s authoritative voice rang out, dispersing the crowd as though he were a bespectacled Moses parting the Red Sea. 

“Zelda!  Come here!”  

“Yes, Mr. Fleming?” 

Fleming straightened his thick, black-framed glasses with one hand and grasped his clipboard in the other.  The man’s sole joy in life seemed to be checking off boxes with his ballpoint pen.  As Zelda approached her boss, she saw that he was trailed by a woman she didn’t recognize.  She was a small, skinny wisp of a girl in a dark green coat that looked secondhand and a size too big for her.  Her hair was damp and she pushed wet tendrils out of her face self-consciously.  She wiggled her fingers, flinging water onto the floor.  Fleming grimaced at the action and the girl ducked her head apologetically. 

“This is—“  Fleming hesitated, flipping through pages on his clipboard.  “—ah, Elisa Esposito.  This is her first day, so Zelda, if you could show her how things run around here, her transition will be as smooth as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Fleming stepped closer and lowered his voice, assuming a secretive tone as though he was disclosing classified information.  “She does have a… handicap.  I was informed that she is mute.  She’s not deaf, but she doesn’t speak at all.  It shouldn’t affect her work, but if it does, inform me and I will deal with the situation.”   

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem, Mr. Fleming.”

He gave a curt nod and adjusted his glasses, clutching his clipboard a little tighter to his chest.  “Good Zelda.  You can carry on now.” 

Fleming scampered away, anxious to oversee more important matters.  Zelda turned her attention to Elisa, who kept her eyes fixed on the floor.  She reminded Zelda of a dog that had been kicked one too many times and was now constantly waiting for the next strike.  Zelda felt a surge of sympathy and extended her hand.  Elisa clasped it gently and gave a limp shake.  Her palm was warm and damp, both from the rain and from nervousness, Zelda suspected. 

“Nice to meet you, Elisa.  My name is Zelda, I’ve been working here for the better part of three years.  Well, I wouldn’t call any part of this job _better_ , but you’ll see it’s not so bad here.”    

The girl brightened and took a tiny notepad out of her coat pocket, the edges soggy and wrinkling.  She flipped it open to a blank page and started scribbling with her red pen. 

“Honey, put that away, you’re going to wear out your hand writing like that.  Right now, all you need to do is listen to what I tell you and give me a nod for yes if you understand.  Got it?”  Elisa nodded so vigorously it looked like her head was going to fly off.  “Good.  If there are any questions we can work it out when we get to it.  Can you do that?”

Elisa gave one last nod and managed a small, shy smile.     

 

* * *

 

“Lunchtime” at Occam was around 3am for the graveyard shift, when janitors and repairmen and technicians paused their work to congregate in the facility’s pitiful cafeteria.  Zelda relished lunchtime, when she could get off her feet and kick off her shoes for a spell.  It was the only time Zelda could get a hot meal all to herself without slaving over a stove; a treat, even if the food tasted like reheated cardboard slathered with ketchup.

Since arriving, Elisa had caught on quick and worked fast.  She stayed close to Zelda and listened to her instructions as though they were the most important words in the world.  Zelda found herself talking to her more and more, not just about the job but about home and Brewster too.  It was nice to be listened to, to be noticed.  No one else seemed to know what to make of Elisa; even amongst the motley crew of the graveyard shift, someone who didn’t talk was unusual.  Suspicious.  Dangerous, even.  Zelda was the only one who asked to be paired with her, and eventually the only one to call her by name.  The other workers referred to Elisa as the Shadow or Zelda’s Little Helper.  Yolanda called her the Dummy.  That one seemed to stick, although everyone knew better than to call her that in Zelda’s presence.       

As she put a plate of limp spaghetti onto her tray, Zelda heard a clatter and Yolanda’s angry, shrill shout.  She turned, and saw Elisa was the source of Yolanda’s ire.  A fork lay on the floor between them, knocked from Yolanda’s tray.   

“Watch where you’re going!  Ay, you give me the creeps, Dummy.”  Yolanda was in Elisa’s face, towering over her.  Other girls would have started to cry, but Elisa simply stood there, staring at Yolanda with those bright, keen eyes of hers.  Her fingers started dancing in the air, twisting and curving.

“What are you saying?  You know none of us can understand any of that stuff.  Shouldn’t you be in some kind of home for people like you and not working here?” 

Zelda had heard enough.  She strode over and slammed her tray down hard enough to shake the table and make everyone jump.  She stalked up to Yolanda, hands on her hips. 

“And what are you doing here, Ms. High-and-Mighty?  She works here just the same as you, you ain’t no better just ‘cuz you’ve been here longer.  So just sit down, eat your dinner and keep your opinions to yourself.” 

Yolanda’s mouth opened and closed.  She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Zelda before stomping off.  There was silence, then the sounds of forks scraping plates and glasses moving as everyone pretended the exchange hadn’t occurred.  They would gossip about it out of Zelda’s earshot of course.  Elisa approached her and offered signs of concern.  Zelda scoffed.       

“They can say whatever they want, I don’t give a rat’s ass what they think.  If there’s something I can’t stand, it’s a bully.  Now eat your sandwich, we got a long night ahead of us.” 

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Elisa and Brewster had in common, it was the ability to turn coal into diamond, to spit-shine crude reality until it gleamed and sparkled.  Brewster did it with lies and tall tales, and it was wonderful until the house of cards came crashing down.  But Elisa didn’t lie, not like that.  She seemed to have one foot in the real world, the unglamorous world of dustpans and trash and chemical smells; and the other foot in a world entirely of her own making.  It was like she was off somewhere better, and even though Zelda couldn’t see it, being around Elisa made her feel as though she was a part of it.          

One night, Zelda caught her in one of her reveries.  They had been working separately, cleaning supply rooms and empty workshops before they were supposed to meet up in F-7, a room whose walls were lined with newfangled machines called computers.  Zelda arrived first, wedging herself into a corner behind one of the massive contraptions.  They seemed to attract dust and cobwebs like magnets, and Zelda fought the urge to sneeze.  The dust was making her nose tingle.

She heard the door open and the squeak of Elisa’s cart as she entered.  Zelda struggled to see around the giant computing machine, and a greeting died on her lips when she saw Elisa’s face.  She had a look about her, like a mischievous child sneaking a peek of her presents on Christmas eve.  It was an elfin look, her hands clasped behind her back as she glided into the room.   She glanced around as though to ensure her secrecy, then straightened her back and took a deep breath.

Elisa started dancing. 

Her moves lacked the crispness of Ginger Rogers or the timing of Shirley Temple, but she twirled across the floor like something magical.  Her face, calm and serene, glowed like a movie star under the harsh laboratory lighting.  She grabbed the mop from her cart and flipped it upside down, clinging to the wooden handle like it was her dancing partner.  The loops of yarn flopped about like unruly hair.  Her ugly Occam uniform fluttered around her, the stained skirt suddenly as weightless as gossamer silk. It was as though she was swimming in air, her arm outstretched and leg kicked back, arching through unseen waters. 

The laboratory door creaked open and the chatter of scientists wafted into the room.  Both Elisa and Zelda froze, the illusion broken.  Elisa quickly flipped the mop around and kept her gaze fixed on the floor, pretending as though she had been cleaning the whole time.  Zelda snorted and shook her head.  That girl was something else. 

 

* * *

 

“You know, I always wanted to learn another language.  French or Italian, something romantic.  When I first met Brewster, he told me he could speak French.  Come to find out, he couldn’t speak a lick of it!  He just picked up some words from a couple of Cajun boys he used to work with at Bethlehem Steel.  It was enough to keep me fooled until I was already head over heels for him.  Lordy, I should have known, the man can barely speak English!”

Elisa covered her smile with her hand and her shoulders shook as though she was laughing. 

“You ever have a man, Elisa?  A beau or a gentleman caller or anything like that?”  Elisa ducked her head shyly and shook her head.  “Don’t worry, you’re not missing much.  You know, since we’ve been married, Brewster hasn’t kept a job longer than a week.  We’ve been living off my salary and it’s never enough.”

Elisa signed sympathetically. 

“Mark my words, one day I am going to go into business for myself.  I’m going to start a cleaning service when I scrounge up enough money.  I’ll move to the suburbs and never have to answer to anyone like Fleming ever again. Can you imagine that?  A nice big yard where I can grow some flowers, maybe even get a dog.  No more waiting at bus stops in the middle of the night.  Just think about it.”    

Elisa smiled at her but quickly looked away.  Zelda knew she wouldn’t say it out loud, but those kinds of things didn’t happen to people like them. 

 

* * *

 

“Will you stop fidgeting?  I’m ‘bout to prick you with one of these pins if you don’t stay still.”

They were in Zelda’s sewing room, stuffed with half-used bolts of fabric and shoe-boxes filled with spools of thread and buttons.  Her old Singer sewing machine sat atop a weathered wooden desk in the corner.  Elisa shifted impatiently in front of the full-length mirror as Zelda adjusted the hem of her skirt.  The fabric was brown with plaid stripes of burnt orange, leftover from the making of one of Zelda’s dresses. 

Zelda had volunteered her services as a seamstress after she caught Elisa admiring the new fashion line in the Sears catalogue.  Neither of them could afford the brightly colored frocks, but Zelda had always been thrifty.  It was almost Christmas, and sewing her a new skirt would be Zelda’s present to Elisa.  After making futile protests, Elisa had insisted on a simple pattern, a plain A-line skirt that reached her mid-thigh.  It would be nothing to write home about, but it could replace one of her other skirts, another hand-me-down that was starting to look old and drab.

It was Saturday night and Brewster was out at some bar; probably wouldn’t be home until after midnight.  Normally it would have aggravated Zelda, but at least she could have some quiet time with Elisa without Brewster squawking about this and that.  When Elisa arrived, Zelda poured them both a cup of coffee even though the sun had already set.  Elisa wandered through the living room, her cup clutched in both hands.  Zelda followed, telling her the stories behind all the knickknacks and curios stacked on a small shelf next to the sofa.  The little porcelain bird had been her mother’s, and Uncle Bill had brought that figurine back from Germany after the war. Elisa stopped in front of the small side table where Zelda’s wedding photo was unceremoniously propped against a lamp.  Brewster was handsome and smiling in a suit he had borrowed from his cousin.  Zelda was standing at his side, her picture obscured by bills and letters.  Elisa pushed the papers aside, revealing a beaming woman in a big, white wedding dress.  She turned to Zelda and signed.  

_You both looked so happy._

Zelda sighed.  “We did, didn’t we.  But Lordy, it didn’t last for long.  Life’s not a fairy tale, there’s no happily ever after for anybody.  Come on, let’s get you into that skirt.”   

Zelda finished pinning and stepped back to admire her work in the mirror.  The skirt fit Elisa beautifully, and the length was exactly what she wanted.  Elisa beamed at her reflection and twirled.  Zelda remembered the night she watched her dance.  For just one moment, the world was transformed into something enchanting and marvelous.  Life was a fairy tale, true love existed, and happily ever after wasn’t a lie.  Even if there wasn’t such a thing, Zelda was convinced that there should be. Even if it was just for Elisa. 


End file.
